


A Touch of Darkfic Vol. V

by VagrantWriter



Series: Reader Requests [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Image, Desperation, Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Multi, Public Humiliation, Watersports, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-23 10:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30053745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: Even more twisted reader requests.Ch. 1 Leak: Reek has an accident.Ch. 2 Cheek: Reek takes Sansa's punishment.Ch. 3 Physique: Ramsay controls Theon's meals.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy
Series: Reader Requests [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/417202
Comments: 34
Kudos: 31





	1. Leak

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! I'm back and ready to take more darkfic requests (see end notes for more details), so let's get this started. 
> 
> x-totel asked:
> 
> _Reek has a little accident in public. Maybe in the cinema or something. I’m absolutely taking a perplexed Stark or two. You know I live for Bolton-Stark AU._
> 
> Note, I will be updating tags and warnings as I go, so be sure to keep checking them.

They were halfway through movie night when Sansa’s disgusted cry alerted everyone. “Ugh, it’s _wet_!”

Reek felt her scoot away from him, and that was when became aware too. Fully aware. He’d been too focused on the relief in his belly to realize what had happened—was still happening.

“Did you spill something?” Catelyn asked, voice weary and disapproving.

“No, I—”

The movie stopped—the Fellowship was just about the head into the Mines of Moria—and Reek blinked as someone flicked on the lights. He felt their eyes turn to the couch, first to Sansa, and then to him. It took a few seconds for anyone to notice the obvious, and even then, nobody said anything.

A moment of frozen, terrified politeness hung on the air.

Ramsay broke it.

“Theon, you’ve pissed yourself!”

Reek ducked his head. Who was Theon?

“Oh, oh dear…” Catelyn stood from her rocker. “It’s alright, Theon, I’m used to it with Rickon.”

“Hey!” Rickon cried in indignation from his place on the floor, curled up next to Shaggydog. “I haven’t wet the bed since I was five!”

Reek’s face burned and Ramsay let out a laugh that shook his entire body. He had not pulled away, not like Sansa had.

Catelyn clucked her tongue. “Come on, Theon, stand up. We need to—before the cushions get too…soaked.”

Reek wanted to sink into the cushions. He wanted to not be seen by anyone ever again. To have every trace of him disappear off the face of this planet.

“Come on, Theon.” Ramsay was hauling him up. “Apologize to Mrs. Stark for pissing on her nice sofa.”

“I…” Who was Theon?

“Oh, it’s okay, dear. Accidents happen.” He felt her eyes on him, the wet on his crotch, trickling down the thighs of his jeans. Now that the weight in his bladder was gone, he was left with only the sensation of the wetness, and how heavy it was as it soaked through his clothes. “Go clean up in the bathroom.”

“Come on, I’ll loan you some dry clothes.” Robb, who hadn’t said or done anything until now—none of the others had—stood and reached for Reek.

But Reek felt a pull from the opposite direction. Ramsay, reeling him in. “Ree—Theon doesn’t need your help to change his pants, Stark. He’s a big boy.”

Reek turned his face away from Robb, because it was obvious from the stain between his legs that he wasn’t. Ramsay had been murmuring as much in his ear all evening. “Stop squirming, Reek. Can’t you hold your bladder through a single movie? Is this how you’re going to act when we’re around people? Like a toddler?”

“For Gods’ sake, Ramsay.” Robb grabbed hold of Reek’s other arm and yanked, pulling him out of Ramsay’s grasp. Reek cried out. “Leave him alone, would you.”

Ramsay’s eyes narrowed, and despite himself, Reek flinched into Robb. _No, no, don’t make him angry._

“Fine, Stark,” Ramsay ground out through his teeth. “Go change his diapers.”

Reek let a sob slip, but Robb just grabbed hold of his wrist and began leading him away. Behind them, Cat and Sansa were already moving the cushions, flipping them over to see which ones Reek had soiled. They should just throw them out—the cushions, the couch. Anything Reek had touched, really.

They navigated down the hallway to the first-story bathroom. Reek knew where it was. Of course he did. But he felt like he couldn’t have found it if he’d been sent out alone. His wet jeans rubbed against his thighs. He was acutely aware of it spreading downwards, to his knees and calves, but he couldn’t have said if it smelled or not. Any worse than his usual stench, at least.

Robb pulled a towel out of the bathroom closet and handed it to Reek. “Here, get out of those clothes while I get you something to change into. Don’t worry about the towel. I use it to dry off Greywind after his baths.”

Reek nodded, feeling the dingy old thing in his hands. A dog towel. That’s what he deserved.

Robb closed the door behind him as he left, and even then, Reek stood there for several seconds, dizzy and lightheaded. The fluorescent lights above the bathroom mirror were too bright. The tiles under his bare feet were too cold, clean, and white. He could hear the muffled voices of the Stark family out in the living room. They were talking about him. His mess. How their movie night was ruined, along with their couch.

His knees buckled and only his arm catching on the sink kept him from collapsing. That was how Robb found him, propped against the sink, gasping for breath like a landed fish.

“Theon!” He dropped the dry clothes from his arms and ran to Reek’s side, put his arm around Reek’s waist to help him up.

“Don’t touch me.” It came out like a kitten’s mewl. “Please, don’t touch me. Don’t look at me.”

“Theon—”

“Not Theon! Reek!”

He finished his collapse to the floor. His wet pants hit those clean, cold tiles. Robb was there with him.

“I saw you try to get up,” Robb said. “I _saw_ him pull you back down, twice. I should have said something. He wasn’t letting you get up to go to the bathroom, was he?”

“I should have been able to control myself.”

“Theon.” Hands were on his shoulders, and he didn’t have the strength to shrug them off. “This isn’t right. This isn’t normal.”

“Reek, rhymes with freak. Rhymes with leak.”

“I mean Ramsay. Who forces their boyfriend to hold their bladder until they piss themselves? Who _does_ that?”

Reek flinched. “I should have been able to control myself.”

“This is fucking _abuse_ , Theon.”

Reek’s gaze found the wall, smooth and blue. He thought he remembered when Cat had chosen the color, when they’d remodeled the downstairs bathroom. She always had such a nice house, so nice and clean, full of nice things. “I’m not Theon.” He pressed he hand against the wall. “My name is Reek, and I need to get back to Ramsay. Please just let me change my pants and go back to Ramsay. I can do it. I’m a big boy.”

Robb made no sound or movement for the longest time. Reek closed his eyes and counted. He was cold. The piss was soaking through to his ankles now.

“Okay.” Finally, Robb was pulling away from him. “Okay,” he repeated. “I’ll just leave everything on the counter here…um, I think the boxers are actually yours, but anyway they’re clean and…”

Reek drew in a deep breath. What would Ramsay do if he found Reek wearing a pair of Robb’s boxers? He was already mad enough. Reek had allowed himself to be in the bathroom alone with Robb and…

“Okay,” he murmured in return.

He didn’t open his eyes until he heard the soft click of the bathroom door. Then he rested his head against the wall and breathed out through his nose.

He should change. He couldn’t keep ruining everyone’s movie night by hiding in the bathroom, in his filthy, smelly clothes. He deserved to be kept in them, though. He didn’t deserve to change.

The door clicked again and Reek tensed. “Please, I—”

“Reek, this is pathetic, even for you.”

He looked up at the sound of Ramsay’s voice. Watched as Ramsay sank down into a squat in front of him.

“Stark was in and out pretty quick. Did you suck his dick?”

“No!” Reek said.

“Did he suck yours?”

“No.”

“Did he touch you?”

Reek didn’t answer, but his hand strayed to his middle, where Robb had held him to try to keep him from falling. “H-he said—”

“Shush,” Ramsay said, with surprising gentleness. “I don’t give a fuck what Robb Stark says. You didn’t listen to him.”

It wasn’t a question, but Reek shook his head anyway.

“Good.” Ramsay smiled. “Now, hurry up. They’re all waiting for you to come out, pet.” He reached between Reek’s legs and cupped. Reek whined. He was wet. Dirty. Ramsay shouldn’t.

“Can we just…go home?” he gasped.

“Oh? That would be pretty rude, after Mrs. Stark was so kind to invite us to movie night. They’re very worried about you, you know, talking about your little accident. Sansa thinks you might have a bladder infection.” He snorted. “But we both know that’s not the reason you pissed all over the Starks’ couch, don’t we?”

Reek wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to climb into the shower and slip down the drain. But he nodded.

“You just can’t control yourself, can you?”

Ramsay squeezed, hard. Reek pressed his forehead against the wall.

“No,” he murmured.

“That’s why you need me.”

Reek gave a tiny, pitiful nod.

“As long as you recognize it.” Ramsay’s hand was gone from Reek’s crotch, now stroking through his hair. Slightly damp. Reek shuddered. “It’s alright, pet. We’ll go home. Nobody wants you around anyway. Plus, this movie’s boring as fuck.”

He stood, and a moment later, Reek felt something both heavy and soft fall into his lap. The smell of Robb hit his nose. Awakened dangerous memories. He wanted to clutch the clothes tightly; he wanted to reject them and shove them away.

“Put those on,” Ramsay growled. “Father wants me to ‘get along’ with Catelyn Stark and her fucking Brady Bunch family, so you better put those on to be polite. We’ll burn them when we get home.” His face contorted in disgust. “There are better things for you to be covered in than Robb Stark’s filth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now featuring art by p-totel. <3


	2. Cheek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FlyingSheep said: 
> 
> _For my request, I'd like a story set in the canon universe in which Reek is punished for something Sansa did, and she's forced to stay and watch. It's up to you if Ramsay knows Sansa did it or if he really believes Reek did it. It would also be nice if Reek dissociates during the punishment. Be as graphic/violent/sexual as you want with the punishment itself; it would make Sansa's guilt/horror even more interesting!_
> 
> I wrote this hyped up on caffeine, so I hope it's coherent.
> 
> Also, new tags. From now on, just assume all the usual Thramsay terribleness when reading. I'll only be leaving warnings on chapters with particularly egregious content.

She was cold. The stones beneath her bare feet offered no warmth. Nor did her thin nightgown, soaked with wine down the font. It was also torn from where her lord husband had pulled too roughly at it. Outside, snow had started to fall again.

What had he brought her here for?

She stood, shoulders tensing and untensing. Fists clenching and unclenching.

She knew.

The evidence of her rebellion was plain as daylight on her nightgown, heavy and sodden. Cold.

It had been impulsive. Petty. She never used to be like this, stooping to the level of insolent brat. But she’d been left with so few ways to fight back. She’d thought her days as a helpless little bird were behind her when she had lied for Littlefinger—a little dove become a dark raven. But Ramsay was not Joffrey. He was no pampered brat whose ego could be reasoned with. Ramsay was…something else.

Speak of the devil himself. The door opened with a drawn-out creak. Sansa’s gums prickled. Her skin itched with fire. She stood completely still, composed, as her lord husband entered the room, dragging his pet by the arm with one hand and dragging a whip on the floor with the other. Sansa drew in a deep breath through her nose, knew Ramsay could smell her fear and uncertainty.

He threw Theon to the floor in front of her—Theon did not get up—and then circled around to her, whip still in hand. “My beautiful wife.” He caressed her face. She held herself still. “I’m terribly sorry to have kept you waiting in this empty room by yourself. You must be wondering why I’ve called you here.”

Called? So, he was in _that_ sort of mood. The mood of calling a fart a gentle breeze. That was fine. If she knew the rules, she could play better. Not that it would help her much—Ramsay would win regardless—but it was something. Something to hold onto.

She noted it but did not respond.

Not that Ramsay seemed to mind. He coiled the whip in his hand and began pacing around her, behind her. “My, you are quite…dirty, aren’t you, dear wife? Soiled.” She felt his breath on her nape, the sharp intake as he drew in her scent. “It is improper for a lady to be so…despoiled.”

She said nothing. Just stared straight ahead, at Theon, skeletal-thin body on the floor. Hovering on hands and knees, but not lifting his head. She didn’t have to worry about looking him in the eyes.

“ _Reek_ here…” Ramsay continued, voice booming as he finished circling her, “wanted to apologize to you.”

Sansa turned her head and found Ramsay staring straight at her, that _smile_ on his face.

Apologize?

“He had no right to ruin your supper like that. It is an _honor_ to bring my lady wife her meals, but apparently Reek does not think so if he’s throwing tantrums. Thoughtless, really, childish. And ruining a perfectly fine wine jug in the process, too.”

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but a slight tilt of his head made her stop. Close her mouth.

He wanted her to agree it was a gentle breeze.

“Winter is _here_ , Reek. We cannot be wasting food so thoughtlessly.”

“No, m’lord,” Theon murmured against the stones.

Sansa could not see Theon’s face, but could hear his ragged breathing. He knew to call it a breeze as well.

Ramsay took several slow, deliberate paces over to Theon’s form. “Why did you throw Lady Sansa’s supper to the floor, Reek? Are you perhaps trying to sabotage my chances of conceiving an heir by depriving my lady wife of her much-needed meals?”

“No, m’lord, I…”

“Then _why_ , Reek?”

“I…slipped, m’lord. Reek is…clumsy.”

Ramsay _smiled_. “That’s no excuse, you know.”

“No, m’lord.”

“Well?” Ramsay nudged Theon with the tip of his boot. “What do you have to say to Lady Sansa?”

Theon remained staring at the floor. “S…sorry…Lady Sansa.”

“I mean. First you murder Lady Sansa’s brothers and _then_ you ruin her supper?”

“I’m _sorry_ , Lady Sansa.” It was louder this time, but with his voice shaking as hard as his limbs.

“You know what I think?” Ramsay’s lip curled into a sneer. “I think a lesson is in order here, to teach you about dirtying a noble lady above your station. Strip.”

Sansa wasn’t sure she’d heard right until Theon began pitifully pulling at the hem of his tattered shirt. Then her heart froze, as if gripped by an icy fist. Her hands clenched. Memories of her wedding night, and of nights following that. Did Ramsay intend to have him _do_ something to her? Or her to him? A point, perhaps, about “despoiling a noble lady.”

Somehow, even in his crouched position, Theon managed to get his shirt off. His back was as worn as a rutted road, raised scars crisscrossing, some quite new and unhealed. He tossed his shirt aside and then reached for his breeches. There was only a moment of hesitance, a flinching of his hands, before he took hold of the waist and began shimmying it down his thighs, which bore more scars.

“You _are_ clumsy, aren’t you?” Ramsay tutted impatiently and knelt down, gripping the breeches and tearing them the rest of the way off.

Reek went to his belly, whimpering. Sansa looked away.

“Wife.”

She squeezed her eyes closed.

“Wife, come here.”

There was an edge in his voice, and she knew it would be worse for her if she disobeyed. She wanted to disobey. So badly.

She opened her eyes and found Ramsay smiling, holding out a hand to her. “Come.”

Her feet would not move. She wished it was her own will keeping her rooted there, but knew it was not.

“Must I repeat myself?”

Whatever had kept her rooted now forced her to step forward.

Little bird.

She took his hand. She _took_ it.

She hated herself so much it choked in her throat.

Ramsay smiled and drew her close. “My beautiful, obedient wife.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you ready for Reek’s lesson?”

She did not answer, but he had to have seen the sharp rise of her chest. Her heart was beating as fast as it could, squeezed as it was in that icy fist. And that seemed to please him well enough. He turned back to Theon, who swayed on his hands and knees, head hung down.

“Get up.”

A whine escaped Theon’s throat. Sansa realized she had not seen his face at all.

“Get up!” Ramsay delivered a kick to Theon’s gut, forcing an _oomph_ from the other man. “Stand up like a man and apologize to my wife.”

Theon’s elbows buckled, but he kept from collapsing. “Reek is…no man.”

“No.” Ramsay snorted. “He isn’t.” He uncurled the whip. “Very well, you can take your punishment on all fours, like a dog.”

“Ramsay!” Sansa cried. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, _felt_ unfamiliar.

“There’s no need for you to speak, wife.” Ramsay brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek. “I will deal with this insult to your honor, as your lord husband, as a man.”

Sansa’s hands clenched. _I must call it a breeze_.

“All you need do…” He drew her in closer still, one arm encircled around her waist. Her skin hurt, being so close to him. “Is watch.” He raised the whip.

She flinched at the sound of the crack. And the shriek that erupted from Theon’s body. High-pitched, not like a man’s at all. But not like a woman’s either. Like an animal.

The blow had been awkward, had not split the skin, but raised a pink welt along the small of his back nonetheless. Ramsay raised the whip again. Sansa felt the next lash connect through the force of his arm. Theon grunted but did not scream, even though it landed truer. Deeper. A stripe that bubbled up red in its wake, higher up on his back.

“How many shall I give you, Reek?”

Theon sniffled. “As many as m’lord pleased.”

Ramsay grunted, pleased with his answer.

_Please, do not let this become my fate_ , Sansa prayed. But certainty clutched at her belly. Eventually she would stop disobeying at all—throwing her meals to the floor, refusing to eat. Eventually she would even ask for it, because it was easier that way.

Ramsay brought the whip down for a third lash, which caught Theon across his backside. His entire body jerked forward with the force of it, and a guttural cry followed.

Ramsay crowed in mirth. “What do you expect, Reek, when you’re presenting yourself like a bitch in heat? How about this?” He absentmindedly adjusted his arm around Sansa. “Your choice. I can give you ten lashes on your ass, or just one…if you spread your cheeks for my whip.”

Reek let out a low, keening moan.

Sansa wriggled against Ramsay’s grasp. “Ramsay.”

“You don’t think I can hit his hole with one try? It’s not exactly hard to miss, you realize. Show her, Reek.”

To her horror, Reek placed his chin on the ground and reached around with trembling hands, following his master’s order to expose himself to her.

“Enough!” She managed to break away from him. “Ramsay, you cannot. You could kill him.”

“You don’t think I know how to punish my own pet?”

“Punish him for _what_? _I’m_ the one who destroyed my meal, and you know it.”

Ramsay’s smile fell away. The corners of his lips turned downwards. Sansa didn’t care.

_It’s not a breeze. It’s a fart. And I won’t hold my nose any longer. I won’t play your games._

His nostrils flared, and that was all the warning she had before he lunged forward. She flinched as his hand wrapped bruising-tight around her wrist and yanked her forward. “I see. So it is not Reek who needs to be disciplined, but my disobedient wife.”

Sansa squirmed against him.

“How about I whip your filthy, spoiled cunt until you show some respect to your husband!?”

“No, please!”

They both turned to see Theon up on his knees. For the first time since he’d been dragged in, Sansa saw his face. Without meaning to, her eyes met his, but only for a brief moment. Then they were flicking to Ramsay.

“Lady Sansa is lying to cover for me.” He scooted closer, looking like nothing so much as the dog Ramsay insisted he was. “Please don’t be cross with her. The truth is, I destroyed her supper because…” He lowered his eyes, like a chastised dog. “Because I am jealous. Of the attention you’ve been giving her.”

“Oh?” Ramsay cocked his head.

Theon nodded. “So please, be merciful on her. She’s only lying to spare me the punishment I deserve.”

Ramsay looked to Sansa, smiling. “Is this true, wife? Are you lying on his behalf?”

“I…” Sansa could not speak.

She couldn’t even remember the rules. Only the icy hand at her heart, both pumping and squeezing. Too tight. And cold.

“You should know by now that a cur like him doesn’t deserve your kindness, my lady.” He released her wrist. “But you should not lie to your lord husband. We will need to stop this from becoming a habit…later.”

Sansa massaged her wrist. The skin felt cold where he’d been holding her. She tried to work feeling back into it. There was no feeling to be had. Only numbness.

“Well then…” Ramsay shrugged his shoulders, rolling them. Stretched his hand and renewed his grasp on the whip and turned back to Theon. “Take the position, Reek.”

Theon nodded, and slowly, he got down on the floor, lifting his backside, hands groping to spread himself. All the while, his eyes closed, tears leaking down his cheeks. His hole was, indeed, easy to find, already red and raw. Sansa closed her eyes as Ramsay drew back the whip, but she could not block out the crack, or the shriek that tore the air a moment later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are still a few spots left for requests... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )


	3. Physique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treegoats said: 
> 
> _Speaking of that particular modern AU, one scene from yr last round of Darkfics is still haunting me: Theon & Ramsay sitting at the Stark-Bolton dinner table, Ramsay allotting pitiful portions to an obviously unfed Theon being all "Oh he's watching his weight", no one really saying or doing anything about it.... Would love more of that theme._
> 
> A continuation of the Bolton-Stark AU (previous installments [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442651/chapters/59774914), [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442651/chapters/60875506#workskin), and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442651/chapters/60998464#workskin)), and again featuring the Starks' downstairs bathroom.
> 
>  **Content warning** for eating disorders, body image issues, obsession with weight, and references to purging.

It started with a pinch, and now here he is, standing on a scale in the Starks’ bathroom while the rest of the family eat dinner together.

The pinch had been several weeks ago, when he’d been dressing for the morning, wrestling himself into his hoodie. “Plans for today?” Ramsay asked, coming up behind him.

“Not really.”

“Didn’t think so. You never do anything.” And then Ramsay had pinched his side. “You’re getting flabby.”

Theon jerked away from the pinch, startled. _Flabby_?

Ramsay sneered and slipped his finger into the waistband of Theon’s pants and gave an experimental jerk, to see how much slack there was. “This waistband sure is working overtime. Unlike _you_.” And with a final slap to Theon’s ass, he walked away without another comment.

Theon wasn’t sure how to react. He squirmed out of the hoodie and spent the next few minutes examining his body in the mirror. Yeah, he hadn’t been exercising as much since he’d started dating Ramsay, there was no denying that. He was softer, less muscled. But he wasn’t…he wasn’t _flabby_.

He grabbed hold of his stomach to see how much skin he could get. It _was_ a bit.

Ramsay was probably right. He was usually right.

Theon decided to skip breakfast and go for a run that morning.

***

There were more pinches, more comments.

Take-out nights: “I got you a half-order.”

Pizza nights with the Boys: “Is that your _third_ slice?”

Restaurants: “Nothing for him, thanks, but _I_ would love to see your dessert menu.”

Nothing made food taste like ash so much as that _look_ from Ramsay. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

***

Ramsay’s hand shot out and blocked Catelyn’s spoon. “Oh, Mrs. Stark, your cooking is delicious, but Theon is watching his weight.”

Theon felt Cat’s eyes on him, but his own eyes were on his plate. The few leaves of salad Ramsay had allotted him, no dressing.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “That’s not enough for dinner. Aren’t you going to be hungry?”

A rush of lightheadedness overtook Theon, and he reached for his glass of water—the only thing Ramsay allowed him to drink these days. He took a long swig. Cold water felt good in his belly, heavy, and almost soothed the gnawing, needy creature that lived there. Never quite, but almost.

“I’ll eat later, at home,” he lied. “I’m kinda on a specialized diet.”

He felt more than saw Ramsay’s approving smile, the same way he felt that Cat wanted to argue. “Well…” she clucked, “I made plenty, in case you change your mind.” And that was it. People didn’t usually push too hard once Theon—or, more usually, Ramsay—told them he was on a diet. Prying was rude, and Cat was not one to tolerate rudeness. How many times had she chastised Sansa or Arya for prying into other people’s business?

So instead of prying, she simply went on to the next plate, spooning copious amounts of homemade macaroni and cheese for Rickon.

Ramsay dug in with vigor, but Theon sat with his hands in his lap until everyone was served. Only then did he pick up his fork, as if it were made of glass, and prodded at his “salad.” His stomach cramped. He gritted his teeth.

“Excellent, as always, Mrs. Stark,” Ramsay declared.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Roose muttered.

Ramsay clamped his mouth shut with a scowl.

“We are always glad to have you and Theon over,” Cat said, with a thin smile, as she seated herself next to Roose.

“And we are always glad to be here,” Ramsay said, having swallowed. “You know, my _job_ keeps me so busy these days, sometimes it’s difficult to make time for _family_. But, well, _one_ of us has to pull our weight.” Under the table his hand squeezed at Theon’s thigh, pinching at the meat there.

“And how is your job going?” Cat asked. The woman could stretch politeness to the breaking point, she truly could.

“Fine. More than fine.”

Roose speared a bit of lettuce onto his fork. He always held his utensils like they were quill pens. “Is that why I had to pay your rent again this month?”

Theon winced as Ramsay tightened his grip on his thigh. He’d gone into a rage when Roose had first told him that he needed to either enroll in classes or get a job, under threat of being cut off, a rage that had left Theon with a broken wrist. Ramsay still resented his father, even if the mandate had led him to discover a certain talent for scalping—reselling items at ridiculous prices, that is, though Theon had no doubt Ramsay also had a talent for ripping people’s literal scalps off as well. 

Conversation continued around the table. Ramsay chewed angrily on his food. Theon focused on nibbling his lettuce and then reaching for the water. His hand was unsteady. Low blood sugar, he supposed. God, but it was hard to concentrate on what anyone was saying. He drank half the glass.

He jumped and nearly dropped it when he felt something nudge against his thigh. He looked down, expecting to see Ramsay’s hand snaking its way between his legs. He was surprised to instead see a furry face looking up at him.

Ramsay’s girls never begged at the table. They were immaculately trained.

“Psst, Shaggydog!” Rickon hiss-whispered and surreptitiously slid his fork under the table.

Shaggydog turned his head and chomped the offered food off the fork. Chewed, at most, two or three times, and spent more time licking his chops.

Rickon gave a devious little smirk, then noticed Theon looking at him. “You can have some too,” he said, as if it were perfectly normal. He glanced to his right, but Sansa was on her phone and not paying attention, and so he stabbed at the mac ‘n’ cheese on his plate, using the same fork he’d used to feed Shaggydog, and held it out.

Theon stared at the food. The rest of the world melted away. Pasta coated in cheese, with bits of bacon in it—Cat’s signature twist. God, it smelled so good. Just…just one bite wouldn’t hurt, would it? He’d been so good over these last few weeks, keeping to his own regiment—and then Ramsay’s when that hadn’t been enough.

His stomach let out a long, dawn-out growl. He opened his mouth. Rickon looked a little startled, but inched the fork forward anyway.

“Mom! Rickon’s feeding the dog again!” 

Rickon jerked the fork away, and in that instant, the world came rushing back in. The sound of knives and forks clicking against plates, subdued conversation. Cat’s aggravated, “Oh for heaven’s sake, we’ve talked about this, Rickon. You’re only teaching him bad habits.”

“No wonder Shaggydog is looking so _fat_ these days,” Sansa said, eyes back on her phone.

Theon stood. “I need to go to the bathroom!”

An awkward silence followed as everyone looked up from their plates.

“Is everything okay?” Cat asked.

“Yes, I just…I’ve been drinking too much water and I need to use the bathroom.”

“Well…you know where it is.” She tried to soften her voice, but there was no disguising the bewilderment there. Like she thought he’d become a total idiot. Not that she’d ever thought terribly highly of him before.

Theon pushed back his chair and stepped away, avoiding Ramsay’s gaze but not the cold disapproval that followed after him.

The world spun around him, and he had to throw out his hands to steady himself as he made his way down the hall to the bathroom. The floor felt uneven, like it was rising and falling under his feet. His head felt disconnected from his body.

It took him several tries to open the bathroom by turning the doorknob, and several more tries to turn on the light switch. He staggered to the mirror, but his reflection was blurry. Everything was blurry. He _did_ need to piss. His hands shook at he tried to undo his fly.

He allowed himself to feel relief as he emptied his bladder—into the toilet bowl, noisily. Afterwards he felt lighter. His head was lighter. His body was lighter. Good. It was good to be empty. It was good.

His stomach cramped.

His zipped up his pants. For a moment, staring into the bowl, he considered throwing up. Ramsay had made him do it before. But a new wave of dizziness took him and instead he had to sit down on the toilet lid and wait for everything to stop moving. He was dizzy enough, he might just throw up anyway.

He sat with his head between his knees for one minute, two. Focusing on his breathing. Each in-breath filled his stomach and took the edge off the cramping. Just slightly. It was in this position that his eyes landed on the scale next to the shower. A simple thing, with a sleek glass design. As soon as the worst of the dizziness passed, he pulled himself to his feet and stepped onto it, steadying himself on the hanging towel rack. The scale lit up in a pleasing blue color, and the digital numbers climbed higher and higher.

Too high.

He realized he was wearing his shoes and kicked those off.

Still too high. He hadn’t weighed that much this morning.

Ah, the hoodie. The hoodie would add an extra pound. He pulled it off.

Also, jeans could be quite heavy, couldn’t they? Those had to go too.

He stood on the scale, dressed now only in his socks and boxers. His bare skin prickled in the cold. And the number on the scale was too high. Maybe it was mis-calibrated? That had to be it. He _hadn’t_ weighed that much this morning, he hadn’t. Ramsay had even been there and seen it.

He wouldn’t be pleased if these were the numbers that showed up when Theon weighed himself tonight.

The numbers began to blur. Theon reached for his boxers—every little bit of weight shed mattered—but as he tried to get them off, the floor bucked him. The wall jumped to break his fall. He scrabbled for something to grab onto. Momentarily, his hand found something hard and solid—the towel rack!—but then there was a ripping sound and he was falling again. Slumping sideways and then collapsing onto the floor.

The smell of dust hit his nose.

He lay there, feeling the rough texture of the bathmat under his cheek, blinking and trying to understand what had happened. His arms and legs trembled.

Another minute passed and his breathing evened out. A bit of strength returned to his arms, and he propped himself up. He’d fallen, and ripped out the towel rack on the way down. There were two big holes in the drywall where it had been bolted just a moment ago, and there was the rack itself, a sturdy bit of steel, bent and twisted from his weight.

There was a knock at the door. “Is everything okay in there?” He couldn’t tell whose voice it was. “We heard a crash.”

“I…” Theon looked at the rack, at the damage to the wall. More than half-naked, and his fat ass had ripped the towel rack off the wall. How was he going to explain this? Any of it?

Ramsay would not be pleased.

“I just need a moment,” he said, reaching for his clothes. He needed to get dressed. And maybe he _would_ throw up after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a request in the comments or, if you're more comfortable one-on-one or anonymous, you can DM me on tumblr @megaunhappybunny. Rules: only one request per person (though I will take either/or prompts if you have multiple ideas you can't decide on). I'm looking for 10-15 prompts to start with and will update when all spots are filled.
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested in leaving a lightfic request, please feel free to do so. I had trouble gathering enough prompts for the last round, but I do love writing lighter stuff as well.


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